


Set my heart on fire like gasoline

by LegitimateTrash



Category: GOT7
Genre: 17ish so i guess grade 12, BamBam is just trying to play hockey he is not here for this pining bs, Enemies to Lovers, High School AU, JB has piercings, JJP are done with everyone's shit, Jackson is really sweet i swear he just says dumb things, M/M, Mark has a temper, Yugyeom might be tall but he is smol, one might call it 'Tuan temper', sports AU, they're all like highschool age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegitimateTrash/pseuds/LegitimateTrash
Summary: Jackson and Mark play for rival hockey teams. It’s the minor leagues, nothing too serious, but Mark keeps getting noticed by the press which only adds to Jackson’s pre-existing hatred.When they keep getting thrown together in different circumstances, will they learn that they’re not as different as they once thought, or will everything go up in flames?_High school au! featuring two oblivious boys, some hockey games, and also ice cream?
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 52
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so all of my hockey knowledge is based off me religiously watching the NHL so if there are any inaccuracies.. Sorry?

There’s two minutes left on the clock.

Jackson wipes sweat from his face as he circles back around the goalie post. He sees the puck coming up the ice and waits a beat before charging out to meet it, stealing it from the other team's offense. He glides down the ice, swerving in between players. He’s in the clear, a stretch of open ice ahead of him and he smiles, knowing that this goal will win the game for them. He’s about to shoot it top right corner when a body slams into him out of nowhere. 

His breath leaves him in one big rush, and he’s knocked to the ice, hard. A stick darts close to his thigh and takes the puck, leaving just as fast as it came. Jackson doesn’t even have to look up to know who it was, but he does anyway, watching as the blur of colour behind him weaves his way to Jackson’s net and takes a shot on goal. Their goalie, Jinyoung, is distracted looking at Jackson to make sure he’s okay- he hasn’t moved from his spot on the ice since he got checked- and totally misses the save, the puck hitting the back of the net. 

The scoreboard now reads **Home : 2 Away : 3**

The timer ticks down and the whistle is blown.

They lost, and Jackson’s hip hurts from where he landed, and it’s all fucking _Tuan’s_ fault. 

BamBam circles Jackson and then stops short, spraying ice all over him. Jackson glares, which makes BamBam snort, and the younger boy reaches out a hand to pull Jackson up. 

Grumbling, Jackson takes the hand. “Tuan’s check was such a foul, where was the ref?” he whines.

BamBam sighs like he’s used to it. “It was a clean check Jacks, maybe a little harder than necessary, but clean.”

Jackson’s not done complaining. He waves his stick in the air petulantly. “We lost to the Bolts _again!_ This is such bullshit!”

“It’s just a prep game, we’re not even in season yet, calm down.”

Jackson huffs as he looks at his younger friend who seems altogether way too calm, “Easy for you to say, you scored _and_ made an assist.”

Jinyoung skates out of his goal post and comes up behind Jackson, resting a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon Jackson, it was a close game, we’ll get them next time.”

They follow the rest of their team as they file off the ice and towards the locker rooms. He sees a couple Bolts players walking down the tunnel and can’t resist when he spots the familiar worn out jersey.

“Hey, Tuan!” he calls, making the other boy turn around. “Nice cheap shot you pulled back there, who were you trying to impress?”

Mark flashes him his teeth. “Wang, long time no see. For the record my check was perfectly legal, you’re just mad that you lost.” He takes off his helmet and runs a hand through his sweaty black hair, making a piece swoop down into his eyes. “Again.”

Jackson feels Jinyoung tense behind him. He sneers. “We played way better than you and you know it. You just got lucky.”

Mark’s gaze turns icy, his face all sharp edges. “You call it luck, I call it talent. And hey, maybe if you spent less time on your ass, and more time playing, you might have a chance at winning next time.”

Jackson is in Mark's face before he even knows he moved, one fist clenched by his side and the other a white knuckled grip around his stick. He tries to straighten his shoulders to make himself look bigger, which isn't hard because Mark may be taller, but he’s a lot leaner.

“What did you say?” Jackson growls, close enough that his breath ghosts over Mark’s face. From this distance he can see the little flecks of grey and gold that dot the older boy’s dark eyes.

Mark opens his mouth to say something, but then he’s getting pulled away from behind him, and Jackson feels hands on his own shoulders. “Back off,” Jinyoung whispers in his ear. 

Across from them, Jaebeom is tugging Mark away, who puts up a surprisingly strong fight, struggling against his friend. Jaebeom’s voice is low, “He’s not worth it, Yien.”

_Yien_. It’s the first time Jackson has heard Tuan’s real first name, and it makes warmth bubble in his stomach. He ignores the warmth, and instead uses it to fuel the fire already burning in his fists. “Not worth it?” he repeats, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

Jaebeom and Jinyoung make eye contact, seeming to have a silent conversation, something along the lines of, _Our kids need to grow up, this shit is getting old_ , before they drag their friends away to their respective locker rooms. 

Once they're safely in the locker room Jinyoung lets him go. “Again Jackson? Really? Can’t you let this petty feud die?”

“He started it!” Jackson protests, but grimaces when he realizes how childish it sounds. 

Thankfully, Jinyoung doesn’t mention it. He starts to undo the laces on his skates. “JB says he’s cool, okay? I’m sure if you actually got to know him he wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Get to know him,” Jackson snorts, “Yeah right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you liked, and if you want me to write more in the future. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/demontuan)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Mark's backstory featuring homework time, because if I'm not doing it, at least I can force my characters to

Unfortunately, there are only a couple rinks where they live, so Jackson’s team- The Devils- and Mark’s team-The Bolts- end up practicing together once a week. They have games pretty often too, since they’re the top two in the minor league. 

He likes having games with The Rascals better, likes how much better he plays against them. 

“That’s ‘cause Tuan isn’t around for you to gape at,” BamBam points out one day. 

Jackson checks him into the boards.

The way he plays can only be described as energetic. He truly does love hockey, and nothing feels better than the chill of the cold rink air and the burn in his muscles after a grueling game. Him and BamBam, they can practice for hours without getting tired.

Jinyoung, even though he’s the goalie, doesn’t feel the same. “Practice was over like ten minutes ago, can I please go home?”

Jackson shakes his head at the empty rink, the rest of their team having already left. “If you leave who I will shoot at?”

Jinyoung mumbles something under his breath but Jackson doesn’t pay it any attention and loops around the ice lazily, dribbling the puck back and forth. He passes to BamBam who charges up the center line and shoots top shelf. It flies past Jinyoung and BamBam lets out a whoop of success.

Jackson claps him on the back, a wide smile spreading. “Damn, that was a beauty Bam, if only Tuan had been here to see it.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes and undoes the clasp on his helmet letting the straps hang down. He skates out from the net. “That’s it, I’m done for the night.”

BamBam follows suit. 

“Hey,” Jackson calls, unsure of their sudden departure, “What’d I say?”

BamBam huffs, and looks at Jackson in exasperation. “Nothing, it’s just, you complain when we have practice with the Bolts because Mark is there, and now he’s not here, and all you do is talk about him.” He waves his hand around for good measure. “I don’t get it.”

Jackson grabs the puck in his glove and comes off the ice after them. “You wouldn’t get it BamBam, you’ve never had a sworn enemy.”

_

Pocketing his car keys, Jackson pushes open the door to the community center and waves at the girl behind the front desk. He heads past the swimming pool and straight to the spectator entrance of the rink. It’s quarter to six. The game starts at seven. Jackson’s here early, because he likes to sit at the rink before a game and just get in the zone. He heads up to his normal spot, the highest row in the stands, and is surprised to see someone already there. 

“Tuan,” Jackson says with disgust.

Mark’s sitting there with notebooks spread all around him, biting on the end of a pencil. He looks up at the sound of his name. 

His lip curls. “Wang.”

Jackson stands defensively, clutching his sports bag tighter. “What are you doing here? The game doesn’t start for another hour.”

Mark twirls the pencil in his hand. “Planning a murder,” he deadpans.

“Really?”

“No,” Mark says, rolling his eyes, “what do you think I’m doing?” He gestures at the books and papers scattered on the bench and on the ground. “I’m studying.”

Jackson raises his eyebrows. “Here?” 

Mark shrugs and goes back to scribbling on his paper. “This was the only time the bus came. Why, is that gonna be a problem?”

Jackson lifts his nose in the air. He will not let this scrawny little show off get to him. “No.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Jackson repeats, turning on his heel. He takes a seat about five feet away. Normally, he would listen to music or just think, but it feels weird with Mark here, so he pulls out his book for class, figuring he might as well get a head start. He’s only three pages in when he hears Mark sigh. Ignoring it, he rereads the last sentence again. A minute later Mark sighs again. Jackson specifically does _not_ look over at him and continues his book.

Mark sighs for the third time and Jackson slams his book closed, glaring at Mark. “Could you stop fucking sighing, I’m trying to read here.”

Mark looks up at him surprised, like he didn’t even notice he was doing it. “Yeah, sorry. I just hate Korean, you know?”

“Korean is a breeze, stop complaining.”

Mark huffs. “Not for everyone,” he mumbles under his breath.

Jackson catches it though, and decides that this will provide quality entertainment. He didn’t like the book anyway. “So what’ll you give me if I help you?” Jackson asks, smirking.

Mark gives him a sarcastic smile. “Nothing, because I don’t need your help.”

Jackson leans over and snatches the paper out of Mark’s hands, “Clearly you do because,” he pauses as he actually looks at the work on the paper, “this is really basic stuff…” He trails off, hesitantly.

Mark flushes. “No shit sherlock, I know, just go back to your book.”

Jackson keeps looking at the questions. He tilts his head curiously. “No, I mean, is Korean not your first language?”

Mark snatches the paper back from Jackson. “Third actually, but it’s none of your business.”

Jackson can tell he’s hit a nerve, and it’s just too good for him to pass up. “So when you joined the Bolts last year, that’s when you moved?”

Mark’s cheeks are still pink and he's glaring, but he nods anyway.

“So a foreigner comes to Korea, doesn’t spend time to even learn the language, and just expects people to fall at his feet because he can shoot a puck? Typical.”

Mark scoffs.“That's rich coming from you, because last time I checked Wang isn’t very Korean either, now is it? _Or are you ashamed of where you came from?_ ”

Jackson bristles when he hears Mark speaking Mandarin. “ _I’m proud of where I came from, China will always be my roots, but at least I actually made an effort to learn the language of where I live_.”

Mark switches back to Korean as if to prove a point. “Not everyone can afford rich kid school where you actually get a decent education. Not to mention your cute little uniforms.”

Jackson tugs self consciously at the uniform blazer he hasn’t changed out of yet. Hot anger burns in his mouth. “Stop playing the victim card,” he says, deathly calm. “Being poor didn’t make you dumb, you did that yourself.”

Mark’s face twists, and Jackson thinks he sees a flash of genuine hurt before his normal ice cold neutral is back. He gets up, grabs his books, stuffing the papers haphazardly into his bag and storms away.

And it’s crazy, because Jackson is the reason that Mark’s leaving in the first place, but he realizes that he doesn’t want him to go. “Wait,” he calls, “Tuan, come back.”

Mark stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around.

“I’ll help you with your homework,” Jackson offers in a last ditch effort.

Mark whips around to face Jackson. “Fuck you.”

“I’m serious,” Jackson insists, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll help you with Korean.”

Mark looks at him suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jackson sighs, reading his face. “You won’t owe me anything. It’s free help. Offer’s on the table, take it or leave it.”

Mark hovers, contemplating his next move. “Fine,” he says eventually. “But only because I have a test soon.”

He flops down on the bench and dumps his bag on the ground, pulling out his books again. He’s still a couple feet away, jaw clenched in residual anger.

“You’re gonna have to come closer if you want me to help,” Jackson points out.

Mark frowns, but scoots closer until they can both lean over the assignment. Jackson can smell the mint toothpaste Mark used and the strawberry scent of his shampoo. It’s not _terrible_ , he supposes.

They work for a solid 45 minutes. It’s weird, because Jackson discovers that not only can they both speak Mandarin, but they both speak English as well. It goes surprisingly well. Jackson is a good teacher, the right amount of telling and the right amount of letting Mark figure it out himself, and Mark is a good listener, picking up on things quickly, especially when Jackson throws in a couple English words. Really, his speech is almost perfect, it’s just the writing they need to improve.

Mark writes down one last sentence. He closes his book. “Cool, we’re done.”

Jackson nods and cracks his back from where he was hunched over Mark’s paper for so long. “We should go change for the game, I’m sure my team will be here any second.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees. He ducks his head down, black hair falling forward. “Thankyouforhelpingme.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“I said,” Mark breathes out, like he’s steeling himself for something painful, “Thank you for helping me.”

Jackson laughs, loud and genuine at the expression on Mark’s face. “Anything for a fan, Tuan.”

Mark gives him the middle finger, but the corners of his lips quirk up. He packs up his stuff and stands up. “See you on the ice, Wang.” 

He leaves Jackson sitting alone on the stands.

Suddenly, Jackson has a craving for mint ice cream. Or maybe strawberry, but he’s not sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, what do you think so far?


	3. Chapter 3

Two math projects, three late night study sessions with Jinyoung, and a week later, Jackson is back at the community center, hitching his sports bag higher on his shoulder. He walks out into the cool night air after the game and breathes deeply. Jackson doesn’t normally use the side entrance, but there had been a local newspaper columnist waiting to speak to someone on the Bolts- obviously Mark, Jackson’s brain screams- and heaven forbid he should interrupt their 15 minutes of fame. He’s already imagining how good a hot shower will feel after the long game they lost in overtime.

A strange sound catches his attention as he walks out the door, the pavement only lit up by streetlights. At first it sounds like the unsteady hiss of a machine of some sort, but on closer examination, Jackson realizes that it’s breathing. Someone is hyperventilating. He looks around in concern before he spots the source, a boy crumpled in on himself, sitting against the hard brick wall. 

“Hey,” Jackson calls out, approaching slowly, “are you okay?”

The boy looks up and Jackson gasps when he realizes who it is. Mark fucking Tuan. Of course. The universe must think it’s hilarious. The urge to turn and walk away, pretending like this never happened is strong, but something about the way Mark is looking at him makes him stop. 

His dark eyes are pointed at him, but they’re glazed over and Jackson can tell he’s not actually _seeing_ anything. He makes his way over and crouches down.

“Tuan?” Jackson asks, clapping a hand on Mark’s shoulder.

Mark flinces back violently, his head slamming into the wall behind him, making Jackson wince. “S-stop, don’t touch me,” he hisses, his voice coming out breathless. Mark curls farther into himself, his arms wrapped around his knees. 

Jackson complies and removes his hand. Mark’s head must be pouding from the impact of the brick wall, but the boy makes no note of it, his eyes still faraway. “What’s happening?” Jackson wonders aloud. 

Mark, not completely out of character, doesn’t answer him. He rocks back and forth feverishly. Jackson’s hands hover uselessly. “Tuan, I don’t understand what’s going on, you need to tell me what to do.”

Mark is shaking, his whole body visibly trembling. He continues to hyperventilate like it’s his job, his cheeks turning pink from straining to breathe.

Jackson is so far out of his depth that it would be funny if Mark wasn’t gasping for air like a fish out of water. “Should I call someone?” he asks, needing Mark's face to return to a normal colour. “Jaebeom? Youngjae?”

A shiver rips its way through Mark’s body, making his teeth clatter together.

“119?” Jackson demands, getting more and more desperate. He cannot sit and watch Tuan _die_ , no matter how much he annoys him. Sweat gathers at Mark’s temples.

Just when Jackson is about to sprint back to the rink to get his coach, the haze across Mark’s eyes lifts just long enough for him to register who’s talking to him. “Just s-shut up, Wang,” he gasps. 

Jackson may not know what’s happening, but it seems like Mark does, so Jackosn just sits there beside him, waiting for this- whatever this is- to pass. After six painfully long minutes, Mark’s breathing finally returns to normal. He slumps against the wall, his muscles finally untensing as his body leans over, brushing against Jackson’s accidently. 

“Sorry,” Mark slurs and tries to pull away. 

Jackson shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He scoots closer so Mark is properly leaning on him, his head resting on Jackson’s shoulder. “You look like shit,” he remarks. 

Mark laughs roughly and gives Jackson the middle finger. “Thanks.”

Jackson can still feel the tremors running up and down Mark's body from where he’s plastered to Jackson’s side. “But seriously, what was that?”

Mark sighs. Jackson can see the gears turning in Mark’s head, deciding if he should confide in Jackson or not. 

“Panic attack,” he supplies. “They- I- I’m claustrophobic. Yugyeom thought it’d be funny if the team tried to see if I could fit in one of the lockers.” He fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater. “It came on fast, so I ran outside so no one would see me.” Mark blinks at Jackson through his eyelashes. “Except you, I guess.”

He looks away like he can’t believe he just shared that much information with his sworn nemesis. Jackson can’t believe it either. Part of him wants to catalog it away and use it later as leverage, but the other part can see that Mark’s hand is still shaking, so he does something rather unexpected.

“We all have our things. Mine is that I’m short. Too short to check people, or fight, or go pro.”

Mark looks like he wants to laugh, but doesn’t.

He stays quiet for a moment. “Why would you tell me that?”

Jackson shrugs, which makes Mark’s head slide further down Jackson’s shoulder, closer to his neck. “I don’t know. Why did you tell me about your thing?”

“I don’t know.”

Which, relatable, because Jackson doesn’t know why he’s sitting there, letting the boy that he hates use him like a pillow, but here he is. Why did he tell him about being short? Who the fuck reveals their insecurities to some rival player? God, when the team finds out he’s never gonna hear the end of it. He quickly sticks out his pinky finger. “This stays between us, Tuan.”

Mark huffs, his head lolling to look at Jackson’s hand. “What are we, five?” Nevertheless, he wraps his own finger around Jackson’s and squeezes. “Fine. Promise.”

Mark’s hand is thin and cold, but it makes fire burn in Jackson’s throat. 

Mark’s eyes flutter closed out of exhaustion, and Jackson jumps out of his stupor, standing up and pulling his finger away from Mark’s. “It’s getting dark.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees lazily, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He types something out and then turns to look at Jackson. “I texted JB and told him I’m here.”

Jackson nods. 

Mark gives him a look. “So you can, like, go now.”

Jackson frowns at the dark haired boy. “And what, just leave you alone?”

“I’m a big boy,” Mark says sarcastically. “I can take care of myself.”

Jackson hovers uncertainty. He doesn’t want to be here, but he can’t just _leave_ when Mark looks so small and tired.

Mark rubs at his temples. “Seriously, Wang, fuck off. I can’t have people finding out we were together outside a game.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. Looks like Tuan’s back to normal. He walks over to where the Corvette that his mom bought him last year is parked. He gets in, but doesn’t turn on the engine. Instead, he watches Mark from the parking lot, still sitting slumped against the wall. Eventually, the side door to the arena opens and Jaebeom comes out. He kneels beside Mark and talks to him for a second before Mark nods and Jaebeom wraps his arms around Mark, hugging him tightly. 

It makes Jackson smirk, because even though he knew Jaebeom was protective of Mark, it’s nice to see that the tough boy with piercings has a soft side. They pull apart, and Jaebeom helps Mark to stand up and walk to his car. They drive away. 

Jackson sits in his car for a long time before he finally turns the key and goes home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but literally hockey players do wear suits before all their games so here you go

It’s hockey tradition, and Jackson isn’t even sure why, but the whole team always wears a suit before the first playoff game. Maybe it’s a tribute to the big leagues, like some sort of initiation. It reminds him of the photos he has on his wall, of his favourite NHL players in suits before their games. He tugs on his jacket; his suit is back and tight fitting, he got it new this year and he knows that clothes don’t make the man, but they sure don’t hurt for self confidence. He knows his broad shoulders look good wrapped up in silky black.

It looks like someone else notices how well he fills out the suit too.

“Hey Wang, nice suit.” Mark’s eyes rake over Jackson’s body, probably hovering on the way the pants cling to his thighs for too long. “You look like a vampire.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. He gives Mark the once over. “At least mine actually fits me, you look like you’re trying to play dress up with your dad’s clothes.” 

Jackson isn’t lying. The suit truly does engulf Mark, making him look small, his sleeves reaching past his fingertips. It’s cute. In an annoying way, of course.

Mark’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink and Jackson knows he’s hit the nail on the head- it probably is his dad’s suit- but still, Mark pats down his pockets like he’s looking for something and then pulls out his phone. He tilts his head a bit and pretends like it’s ringing before putting it up to his ear. “What’s that?” Mark asks, faking interest. He covers the bottom of the phone like he doesn’t want the person on the other end to hear him. “It’s Edward Cullen,” he stage whispers, “he wants to know if you’re bringing pie to the family gathering.”

Jackson laughs without meaning to, and ends up trying to cover it up with a cough. He grins, already having the perfect insult on the tip of his tongue when the phone in Mark’s hand rings for real. Mark looks to Jackson and gives him a half nod as a goodbye, then slides his finger to accept the call. Jackson can hear him speaking English as he walks away.

“Hey, slow down.” There’s a pause. “It’s okay, just tell me what happened.” His voice trails off as he disappears from view. 

Oh well, Jackson thinks. Maybe if he’s lucky they’ll have a face off and Jackson can save his insult for the ice.  
_

He never gets his chance. The game goes exceptionally well, and the Devils are leading two nothing going into the third period. Jackson is playing better than usual and even BamBam comments on it. “You’re on fire, man!”

Funny. It’s a lot easier to concentrate on the game when Mark isn’t around. 

They win, but it’s not as sweet as normal, because he doesn’t have anyone to gloat to, or show off his dramatic celebrations. 

Jackson catches Jaebeom on his way out of the community centre once they’ve all changed.

“Where’d he go?” 

Jaebeom squints and takes out his earbuds. “What?”

“Tuan,” Jackson says. “He was here before the game. Where’d he go?”

Jaebeom raises an eyebrow, making his piercing glint in the light. “Why do you care?” 

Jackson shrugs and fiddles with the strap on his sports bag. “No reason, just wanted to see his face after we shut you out.”

“Family stuff came up. He couldn’t stay,” Jaebeom explains, his eyes a bit softer than before.

“Oh,” Jackson frowns, his chest deflating. “But he’s like, okay, right?”

Jaebeom gives him a strange look. “I don’t know, I haven’t texted him yet. We only just got off the ice.”

Jackson shakes his head and tries to pull himself together. “Yeah, right, of course. Sorry.”

An awkward silence stretches out, and Jaebeom stands there, clearly waiting for something. He clears his throat and Jackson finally realizes that he’s blocking the way out. 

“Oh, ah, here,” he mumbles, stepping aside to let Jaebeom pass. 

Jaebeom goes to the door, but then pauses with it half open and turns back to Jackson. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he says, “try not to worry too much.”

Jackson tries to argue that he’s not worried, but Jaebeom is already gone and his protests fall on deaf ears.

_

Jackson has absolutely not been coming early just to see Mark. No way. Really, if anything, Mark is the one coming to see _him_ , because Jackson had always come this early. Too bad they changed the bus schedule and Jackson and Mark just _happen_ to be together for an hour before their Wednesday night practices.

Jackson finds himself looking forward to Wednesday nights. He chalks it up to his love for hockey and ignores the way that he fixes his hair before walking into the rink.

“You missed my win last week, Tuan,” Jackson reminds him, just to get a rise out of him. 

Mark looks tired but he plays along anyway. “Purely a fluke. The Bolts fought valiantly, but it’s just not the same without their star player, is it?”

“Star player,” Jackson snorts, “You wish.” He eats an apple and makes unhelpful comments as Mark does his homework for a while before they start talking about the game on Friday.

“I’ll be here Friday, 100%. Prepare to have your ass whooped,” Mark grins. “I finally got my skates sharpened.”

Jackson smirks. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I’m pretty confident. My mom’s already buying snacks for the victory party.”

Mark laughs and shoves the younger boy. “Too bad it’ll have to be a pity party, ‘cause you guys are going down. You should buy mac and cheese, that’s a good food to eat while crying”

Jackson tilts his head. “Honestly, she probably bought some.”

Mark giggles. “Wait, you were serious? Your mom’s actually planning a party?”

Jackson nods, throwing his head back in exasperation. “She really is too involved in my life. She’s trying to drag my whole extended family to the game. I think even my cousins are coming.”

Mark smiles softly. “That must be nice.”

“Nice?” Jackson repeats incredulously. “More like embarrassing. My grandma always brings signs and stuff, she acts like it’s the NHL or something.” Jackson may be complaining, but the fond smile on his face tells Mark that he doesn't mind as much as he says he does. “But you must get it of course, I’m sure your whole family comes to see Wonder boy play.”

Mark shrugs, his body tensing as he sits up straighter. “My dad works late, he probably won’t make it on time.”

“But your mom’s coming right?”

Mark fiddles with a small bracelet around his wrist that Jackson had never noticed before. “She..she won’t be coming.”

Jackson sees from Mark’s expression that it’s a sore spot. His instinct is to press farther, to squeeze out the juicy details until Mark storms away mad, but it's family, and Jackson has always had the utmost respect for family, so he tries to lighten the mood. “Hey, I mean at least this way she won’t see you lose.”

Mark tries to laugh but it sounds watery, and when Jackson looks over Mark is rubbing at his eyes with his sweater sleeve. 

Come to think of it, Jackson doesn’t think he’s ever seen any of Mark’s family at their games. Jaebeom’s words from last week echo in his head, “ _Family stuff came up_.” He suddenly feels like he accidently added salt to a recipe instead of sugar. 

Jackson hand hovers over Mark’s shoulder, but never makes contact. “Tuan, I didn’t...I shouldn't have-

Mark shakes his head, averting his eyes. He sniffles and stands up. “I’m gonna go get changed.”

Jackson lets him go even though they still have half an hour before practice starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jackson loves his family so so much, he's precious. Also some family stuff with Mark maybe? Who knows?


	5. Chapter 5

Jackson is sitting at the breakfast table eating very highly sugared cereal when his mother nudges the local newspaper across the table and points at the headline. 

“Isn’t that the boy you play hockey with?”

**17- Year Old Mark Tuan Shows Promising Talent at Annual Tournament.**

There’s a picture of Mark being lifted up by his teammates, a smile so wide his canine teeth poke out. Jackson snatches the paper from his mother. He reads a couple lines.

_Mark Tuan of the Suwon Bolts has caught the attention of numerous NHL draft leagues. The start of his season has been incredible with 8 power play goals and 15 power play assists. He is leading the minor leagues with an impressive 29 points to his name thus far. The way that Tuan conducts himself on the ice is nothing short of incredible, and if his season holds up, the small town of Guwonseon-gu will be behind him soon._

Jackson stops reading and walks over to the recycling bin, throwing the paper in.

His mother tilts her head. “Honey, isn’t that Mark? I thought I'd seen him at your games?”

Jackson shrugs. “Could be. I don’t know him that well.”

He tries to eat his cereal, but he’s lost his appetite.

_

That night before practice, Jackson goes to his usual spot on the highest row in the stands. He isn't surprised that Mark is already there. 

Mark nods at him as he sits down. “Wang.”

Jackson ignores him. He puts on his headphones and cranks the volume up high, hoping to get lost in the music before practice. A couple songs later he feels something hit his shoulder. It’s a small piece of eraser. Mark giggles from beside him. Another piece of eraser hits him directly on the forehead. 

Jackson tugs off his headphones. “What do you want Tuan?”

Mark slides over a piece of paper. “Can you explain number three? I re-read the passage but I still don’t get it.”

Jackson sighs and leans over to look at the question when he catches the edge of a newspaper sticking out of Mark’s school bag. It's the same one that his mom showed him this morning. He’s carrying around his own news article. That cocky little-

Jealousy burns up Jackson’s veins, hot and sticky. He turns away from Mark at the last second, pushing the paper away. “Can you do your own homework for once?” he snaps.

Mark looks at him strangely, his features pulling down in a frown. “Yeah, I guess, it’s just-

“I have a headache,” Jackson interrupts, cutting him off, “Just do it yourself.”

Mark pulls away from Jackson and looks at the younger boy critically. He doesn’t say anything for a while, but then, “Maybe you should sit somewhere warmer if you’re sick?”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “I like sitting here.”

Mark rummages around in his bag for a second- he brushes the newspaper and Jackson clenches his hand into a fist- before surfacing with a small bottle of pills. “I have advil if you want?”

Jackson scrunches his eyebrows together as he looks at the bottle. For some reason unknown to man, Mark is being nice even when Jackson is not, and it just makes Jackson more angry. He waves him off harshly. “It’s a headache not the plague, so back off, okay?”

Jackson can physically see Mark put the walls he had lowered back up. His eyes turn cold and he stuffs the bottle back into his bag. “I just wanted to make sure that I’ll win tonight because I’m better than you, and not because your lame ass didn’t take any medicine and couldn’t keep up. But hey, you don’t want it? That’s fine. Pass out, see if I care.”

Jackson really _does_ have a headache now. He tries to get in the zone- changing the playlist to something equally as angry as he feels- but he keeps looking over to Mark. Mark doesn’t seem to be faring much better, and soon he slams his textbook closed and gathers his things, leaving Jackson alone on the bleacher. 

The fire in Jackson’s blood leaves as soon as Mark does, and he’s left feeling cold.  
_

The Bolts win, and Mark makes a big show of celebrating, skating around the ice with his teammates and flashing a smile at some girls who wave at him from the stands. He poses dramatically for their phone cameras, holding up a single finger meaning ‘number 1’. Jackson’s skin feels hot. He doesn’t stick around and goes straight to the locker room.

Unfortunately, even though he’d been trying to avoid him, Jackson passes by Mark in the community center lobby area. He’s by the water fountain, talking to his teammate. Jackson hears him lean over and whisper something into Yugyeom’s ear as he walks past. Yugyeom looks over at Jackson and bursts into laughter alongside Mark.

Jackson’s anger from earlier is sparked at the sound of his laugh and he whips around to face him.

“I’m so sorry your Highness that I forgot to bow when I walked by.” He bends and bows mockingly. “Is that better for you? Now you _really_ have everyone worshiping the ground you walk on.”

Mark’s nose scrunches up. “What the fuck are you talking about, Wang?”

“You!” Jackson yells. He receives some looks from the other people in the center and lowers his voice considerably. “You’re so fucking spoiled. You score a couple of goals and suddenly you’re some big shot with people writing articles about you in the paper.”

“ _I’m_ spoiled?” Mark asks incredulously, “You’re the one that walks around with your fancy new skates, and your jerseys that actually fit, and you think you’re better than everyone else. Well news flash, you’re not.”

Jackson folds his arms over his chest and takes a step closer. “At least I didn’t bring my groupies to the game. Don’t think I didn’t see them fawning over you.”

“I don’t know who the hell those girls were, but maybe they just have good taste.” Mark runs a hand through his hair, making the dark strands fall into his eyes. “You see that's what happens when you get into the league on talent, instead of buying your way in.”

Jackson’s jaw clenches. Heat rolls off him in waves. “You really think you got in because you’re talented?” He turns to Yugyeom, the younger boy silently watching the exchange between the other two with a look of apprehension. “Yugyeom, buddy,” he mocks, fake kindness dripping off his words, “How are you?”

Mark immediately moves forward at the sound of his friend’s name, stepping slightly in front of the taller boy and holding out a protective arm. 

Jackson glances around Mark to look at Yugyeom. He tilts his head. “Why don’t you tell Wonder boy why he actually got in?”

Yugyeom grimaces and looks away, his shoulders shrinking in on himself. 

“You don’t want to?” Jackson asks, condescendly nice. His gaze flickers between the two hockey players. “Then I guess _I’ll_ have to tell him. It’s better coming from a friend, but, oh well. A new kid moves to town,” he says slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “He doesn’t have any friends, or money, and has to go to public school.” Jackson’s hands are sweating, but the sneer on his face doesn’t falter. “You got in because you’re The Bolts good deed of the year.”

He looks directly into Mark’s dark eyes. “You’re the charity case, Tuan.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, and turns on his heel, storming out the front entrance. The door slams dramatically behind him and he walks off, making sure he doesn’t look back. Somehow though, even though he got the last word, it feels like he lost, because Mark is in there with Yugyeom, and he’s out here alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're fighting again, but what's new? Also, yes that was a harry potter insult I used.  
> I swear they actually talk in the next chapter without yelling at each other...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was a lot longer than I originally thought it would be and I only proof read it once so sorry in advance if there’s mistakes.

In hindsight, Jackson probably overreacted. It’s not uncommon, and he tends to do it a lot because he has so many feelings and so little filter, that whatever’s on his mind is normally spat out unceremoniously. But while his anger burns hot, it also burns quickly, and now he’s not even mad anymore. The fight replays over in his head though, and he begins to wonder how much truth there was behind Mark’s words.

Jackson still comes to the rink early on Wednesday. He doesn’t want Mark to think that some little fight could shake him up as much as it had. Mark is already there when Jackson purposely sits as far away as he can without falling off his prized highest bleacher.

The older boy looks up at Jackson when he sits down. “I got an A,” he says abruptly.

Mark is looking at Jackson expectantly, with neither a smile nor a scowl. Jackson scrunches his eyebrows together. “What?”

“On the Korean assignment you helped me with,” Mark explains. “I got an A.”

_An A._ Jackson smiles before he can remind himself not to. He quickly schools his features into something more neutral. “First time for everything,” he throws out, trying to sound offhand.

Mark’s jaw clenches, and he ducks his head down, black hair falling into his eyes.

Jackson immediately feels like an ass. He’s the one that completely blew up last time, and here Mark is, trying to smooth things over. 

(Which by the way, is fucking weird in the first place, because since when did Tuan act his own age and not like an over confident show pony? Actually trying to coexist peacefully with each other? What scene in _invasion of the body snatchers_ is this?)

Jackson sighs. He hates being a grown up. “But I guess if I’m just _that_ good of a teacher, I shouldn’t waste my potential.” He gets up and plops himself down beside Mark. “What’re we working on today?”

They work for a while, but Mark seems to be doing fine on his own, and Jackson only needs to correct a few grammatical errors. It leaves Jackson with a lot of time to look at Mark. Not that he’s like actively looking or anything, it’s just, there’s nothing else to do, and Mark is right there, so he might as well, right? Today Mark’s wearing an oversized white shirt with a jean jacket on top. His black hair isn’t styled, and it hangs over his forehead in a fluffy mop. His tongue darts in and out of his mouth as he works on a particularly hard question. He’s pretty, Jackson realizes, and is immediately annoyed, because it’s not fucking fair that his arch enemy is _pretty_.

“Do you wanna get ice cream?” Jackson blurts out, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Mark tilts his head. “Ice cream?”

Jackson feels warm. He did not think this through. “Y-yeah,” he stammers out. “I have a coupon and it expires tonight, and BamBam and Jinyoung are busy.”

Mark thinks about it for a second. “Sure,” he agrees easily. Jackson opens his mouth to say something when a mischievous glint enters Mark’s eyes, “But only if you let me drive your Corvette.”

Jackson grimaces and snaps his mouth shut. “But she’s my baby,” he whines, his lips bordering on a pout. “I don’t let anyone drive her.”

Mark shrugs. “No car no deal.”

Jackson contemplates if he should just scrap the whole idea and keep his precious car safe, but then he glances at Mark and the older boy grins, making his canines poke out. “Fine,” Jackson huffs, “but if you so much as scuff the paint, I’ll make sure you can never skate again.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

_

Mark was on a hot streak tonight and even Jackson has to admit (he won’t though, if you asked him), Tuan played well. It’s just a practice- they run drills and do a scrimmage at the end- not even a real game, but the stands are filled. Jackson tries to ignore the photographer pressed up against the glass who only has eyes for Mark. They go to their respective change rooms after practice, and then Jackson ends up waiting in the community center parking lot, twirling his keys. He had made BamBam ride home with Jinyoung tonight instead of him, much to the younger boy’s protests. 

“But he drives like a grandpa, Jackson!”

Jinyoung sends the younger boy a glare from where he’s leaning against his mom’s minivan. “I’m right here y’know.”

Jackson smiles at BamBam and tries to convey the message that he needs to be a wingman and just leave, without actually saying anything of the sort. “Just ride with grandpa Jinyoung for tonight, Bam. I’ve got something important to do.”

BamBam pouts but opens the passenger door of the minivan and climbs in. He rolls down the window. “Fine. But if I don’t text you tomorrow, it’s probably because we’re still at the stop sign waiting for a family of _squirrels_ to cross.”

“That was one time!” Jinyoung exclaims.  
_

Mark waits until his whole team has left not only the changing room, but the whole building, before he sneaks out into the parking lot. A part of him expects Jackson to be gone when he gets there, because even though it was the other boy’s idea, it’s _Wang_ and he’s _Tuan_ and really that’s all that needs to be said. But Jackson is still there, just like he said he would be, twirling the keychain on his car keys. Mark takes this golden opportunity and silently creeps up behind him, slamming his hands down on the shorter boy’s shoulders. 

Jackson jumps about a foot off the ground and whips around, his hand clutching his heart.

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, eyes wide, “way to give a guy a heart attack.”

Mark giggles and starts to throw his bag and stick in the back as Jackson pops the trunk. “You’re too easy.”

Jackson grumbles and moves to get in the drivers side, but Mark tsks at him. 

He wags a finger disapprovingly. “Ah, ah, ah, you said I could drive.”

Jackson halts midway to the door. Clearly, he thought Mark would have forgotten their deal and he could get away with driving. Reluctantly, he hands over the keys. “I’m serious, Tuan. One scratch on her paint and you're dead meat.”

The warning is futile, because Mark, as it turns out, is a really good driver. Safe and careful, but also fast enough that Jackson feels a little adrenaline pump through his veins. Now Jackson may have handed over his driving rights, but he still gets to control the music, so they end up listening to some god awful country station just because Mark complains that, “Please, you can’t actually _like_ that,” which means that yes, Jackson insists, he does actually _like_ that. 

A comfortable silence stretches out, and Jackson finds himself looking over at Mark more often than not. He likes the way Mark looks, strong hands wrapped around the steering wheel, his dark curls blowing in the wind from the open window. A car horn honks in the distance and Jackson snaps himself out of it long enough to look at the passing scenery.

They whiz by the ice cream place that Jackson normally goes to. “You missed the turn,” he points out.

Mark shakes his head and glances in the rearview mirror. “No I didn’t.”

“Then where are you taking me?” Jackson asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

Mark smirks. “You let me drive, rich boy, so we’re going to my side of the tracks.”

They end up at the same chain- there’s not too many ice cream places where they live- but this location is pretty rural and the parking lot backs out onto a field which stretches for miles and miles.

The door chimes as they walk in, and Jackson marches straight up to the counter. It’s deserted; Mark and Jackson are the sole customers.

A girl probably not much other than they are glances up from her phone. She slides off her chair. “What can I get ya?”

Jackson doesn’t even look at the options. “One vanilla cone please,” he orders. 

Mark looks at him like he just ordered live octopus. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” Jackson defends, “I like vanilla.”

“Of course you do, you basic bitch,” Mark teases, “I don’t know why I expected something different.”

Jackson crosses his arms over his chest. “Well what are you getting?” he huffs.

“I don’t know. But if you’re buying...” Mark leans over the counter and smiles at the unimpressed girl behind the cash register. “What’s the most expensive flavour here?”

“It’s ice cream,” the girl deadpans, “all the flavours cost the same.”

Mark sighs and glances at the menu, “Caramel then, please.”

The girl prepares their ice cream and Mark holds both the cones as Jackson pulls out his wallet. He hands the girl a ten and waits for change. 

“What happened to your coupon?” Mark asks, seeming like he’s genuinely wondering.

Jackson’s face heats up. He shoves the change he gets back into his pant pocket. “Oh, that. I must’ve lost it.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow, seeming to understand the subtext. “Lost it, huh?”

Jackson’s face gets even hotter and he snatches his cone from Mark while the older boy laughs. They sit on the trunk of Jackson’s car in the parking lot, licking their cones and watching the sun set over the crops in the field.

“Hey Tuan,” Jackson calls, getting the older boy’s attention. “I was kinda out of line last week.” 

Mark nods. “Yeah, kinda.”

Jackson takes a deep breath. “Well, I… I take it back.”

It’s not an apology, no where close really, but Mark recognizes it for what it is and the corner of his mouth quirks up. A comfortable silence rests over them, until Jackson breaks it.

“I didn’t always play hockey,” he muses, looking up at the orange tinted clouds. “When I was younger, I was a fencer.”

Mark’s eyes widen. “That’s pretty different from hockey.”

Jackson laughs but it’s more sarcastic than anything. “Yeah, it is. When I lived in China, I was an up and coming star, best in my division, a Wonder boy just like you.”

Mark rolls his eyes at the nickname but pushes on. “So why would you stop?”

Jackson lets out a deep sigh. “I mean sure I was good, but I was also miserable. My dad trained me hard and he built the mindset that “Second place is just first to lose” and “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.” Which was like, fine for a while, but I just wanted to be a kid, not a little robot with a sabre.”

Jackson rubs imaginary dirt off his car. “But then we moved to Korea, and the fencing league is much smaller here. My dad said it would be easier to win in such small competitions, but I told him that I didn’t want to compete anymore. He was mad that I was wasting my potential, disgracing the family legacy of athletes, but I stood my ground.” 

Jackson looks up to see if Mark is still listening and sees two dark eyes watching him intently. “It was pretty pathetic though, because after maybe two months without fencing, I found out that I really missed sports, missed the relief they gave me. So I joined a hockey team because the first friend I made here, Jinyoung, was already on one, and it ended up being really fun. We were what, twelve at the time? So it was just house league, but as we grew up I worked my ass off and tried out for the minor league. And suddenly, it was like fencing all over again, I just _had_ to win. Only this time, there’s no one to blame but myself.”

Jackson closes his eyes. He knows he’s talking a lot, but he can’t seem to stop himself. Mark is just surprisingly easy to confide in. His attentive listening is a nice change from BamBam’s unwavering optimism or Jinyoung’s brutal honesty. 

“Hockey is the only thing I’m good at,” Jackson explains. “And now, I’m not even the best anymore. What do I do with that?”

Mark draws his legs up so he’s sitting cross legged on the trunk instead of letting his feet dangle. “You’re overthinking it, Wang. You don’t need to be _the_ best, you just need to do _your_ best. The rest will fall into place.” He tilts his head. “You know what I mean?”

Jackson does know what he means. It’s good advice, and even though he doesn’t want to hear it, he probably needs to. Damn. He lets out a noise of frustration. “I guess. But you’re just.. so…” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “You’re so damn lucky and you don’t even realize it. NHL scouters at your door only a year into the league? That shit’s unheard of.”

Mark doesn’t reply, so Jackson looks back to the field and watches a bird swoop low, gracefully landing on a scarecrow. 

“You _were_ right you know,” Mark admits quietly.

“I always am,” Jackson agrees, without missing a beat. “But about what exactly?”

“About me. Being the charity case.” 

He states it casually, like a fact, but Jackson can tell it runs deeper.

He knocks his knee against the older boy’s. “That’s not true. I was just mad, I didn’t know what I was saying.”

Mark continues to eat his ice cream but his eyes take on a faraway look. “It _is_ true though. I asked around. The Bolts always let one low income player on the team each year. Good for the community or something.”

Jackson sighs. He can’t believe that he’s about to say what he’s going to say. “Maybe at first, but you’ve proved yourself ten times over. You deserve to be on the team just as much as anyone else.”

Mark blinks and turns his gaze away from the field to look at Jackson, his long eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. “You think so?” 

Jackson does think so. He really does, more than he himself even realizes. “If anyone ever asked I would deny it, but yeah. The reason I’m not the best anymore is because _you_ are. You’ve got something special, Tuan.”

Mark’s canine teeth poke out but he tries to hide it by starting to eat the cone. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me Wang.”

Jackson lets out a noise of protest and crams the rest of his cone into his mouth. “Never,” he mumbles around his mouthful. 

Mark looks over and bursts into laughter.

Jackson looks around. “What?” he demands.

“You got a little something,” Mark giggles, pointing to the corner of Jackson’s mouth. 

Jackson wipes his mouth furiously with the back of his hand, his cheeks flushing. 

Mark is still giggling. “Here, let me.” He reaches out and wipes Jackson’s mouth with his thumb.

Mark’s finger lingers on Jackson’s face even when the ice cream is gone. Jackson can smell mint and strawberries even though neither of them ordered those flavours. Warmth blossoms in his stomach as he looks into Mark’s eyes. They’re the kind of black that’s terrifyingly dark: not because they're empty, but because they're so full that they suck everything else in. The longer he looks, the more Jackson thinks that maybe he's getting sucked in too. He feels himself leaner closer.

Mark pulls his hand away and Jackson freezes, not daring to move an inch. Thankfully, the other boy doesn’t seem to notice Jackson’s panic, and turns back to the display of red and orange being cast across the sky. As Jackson tries to sort through what the fuck just happened, and why he is still sitting close enough that their knees are brushing, Mark finishes his ice cream in silence. The sun dips below the field and the stars come out, causing Mark to glance at his phone for the time.

“I can drive you home?” Jackson offers when Mark hops off the trunk. 

Mark shakes his head. “It’s fine, I live close anyway, I’ll just walk.”

Mark gets his bag out of the car and slings it over his shoulder. He holds his hockey stick in the other hand and gives a little wave. “Thanks for the ice cream, Wang. See you Friday.”

Jackson nods and watches as Mark walks away. He gets in the driver's seat and has to move it closer to the wheel from where Mark had adjusted it. He pulls up directions on his phone for how to get home.

Thoughts swirl in his head viciously, but one image keeps coming up: a boy with black hair and a smirk, white teeth shining at him. 

Even though it’s warm outside, the drive back feels cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to let everyone know that I literally did research and Jackson’s favourite ice cream flavour is vanilla? Like boi get some taste. Also literally every time Mark gets asked he changes his answer so I just picked a random flavour for him idk.
> 
> Sooo, we finally got some Jackson backstory. How’s everyone liking it so far?


	7. Chapter 7

Currently, Mark is doing Jackson’s math homework, and Jackson is doing Mark’s Korean project, and really, it’s working all too well. Normally, Jackson tries to make Mark do his own work because, “You won’t get anything through that thick skull of yours if you don’t write it yourself,” but in this case he relents because Mark is a lot better at math than Jackson, and Jackson needs to get his calculus grade up soon or his mother will skin him alive. Mark finishes the questions quickly and stands up, stretching his arms above his head.

“Do you want to skate with me?” he throws out.

Jackson underlines a hyperbole and starts to analyze it. “Huh?”

“Skate,” Mark repeats, “Like for fun.”

Jackson looks around the rink and then back to the raven haired boy. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” Mark has a smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t remember the last time I skated just because I wanted to.”

Jackson shrugs. No one’s around to see them anyway, and Mark has clearly finished Jackson’s homework, so he can rest easy knowing his math grade is safe. “Sure.”

They pull their skates on and Mark immediately starts to loop around the ice. It’s weird, because it really has been a long time since Jackson just _skated_ , and he’s not sure what to do with his hands when they’re not holding a stick. They start out just doing their own thing, each of them gliding around the ice in crisscrosses and loop de loops.

Eventually, Mark falls into stride with Jackson. “I missed this,” he says softly.

Jackson looks at him and sees an expression he’s never seen before. It’s not the infamous Tuan temper, but it’s not the bright smile he’s come to know either, it’s more neutral than that. Peaceful almost.

Jackson knows exactly what he’s talking about. “Me too,” he admits. His mind takes him back to when he first learned how to skate, and he smiles and twirls in a small circle, one leg up.

“Where’d you learn that?” Mark asks, giggling at the sudden display of grace.

“BamBam taught me right when I was first getting into hockey.”

Mark raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Not Jinyoung?”

Jackson snorts at the mental image. “Nah. Jinyoungie’s got the strength and the power, but he could never do stuff like this. It’s all Bam and his obnoxiously long legs.”

Mark, never one to be outdone, skates ahead a bit and jumps from one skate to the other, twisting midair. 

“Woah!” Jackson exclaims, laughing slightly. “We’ve got a prima ballerina on our hands. Please tell me JB taught you that, I’d pay money to see him figure skate.”

Mark shakes his head. “Jaebeom?” he snickers, “I wish.” He sobers up and a small smile forms. “It was my mom actually.”

Jackson’s eyebrows raise. Mark is still a bit of a mystery to him- never sharing any personal information unless necessary- but he finds himself wanting to learn more. He tries not to be too eager in his questioning as they fall back into pace, skating circles around the ice. “Your mom can skate?”

Mark grins. “Hell yeah. She taught me everything I know. I used to sit and watch her for hours and hours when I was a kid.” A wistful look comes over Mark’s face, like he’s imagining his mother back in America, flying around the ice. “She was amazing.”

Jackson’s been trying to put together the small scraps Mark has given him, to form some sort of picture, but he's still falling short. He treads lightly around the subject. 

“ _Was_ amazing?”

Mark’s expression darkens and he starts skating faster unconsciously. His voice comes out quiet. “She, um, she can’t really skate anymore. Not like back then. Not since she got sick.”

Just from the way Mark says it, Jackson can tell that it’s not some run of the mill flu. When he says sick, he means _sick_. Jackson’s first reaction is _holy shit that sucks_ , but he bites back the words, knowing they won’t help anyone. It’s just- Jackson doesn’t know what he’d do without his mom. As overbearing as she is, she’s also Jackson’s rock; the one person that he can count on one hundred percent, who will always be there. 

Jackson almost tears up just thinking about it, so he can’t imagine what Mark is going through. 

“Is she…. is there a cure?” 

Black hair falls into Mark’s eyes as he skates just a bit faster. “No. But it’s too late anyway, we don’t have long now.” Jackson can hear Mark trying to keep his voice steady, whether it be for Jackson’s sake or his own. “We actually thought it was time a couple weeks ago but she pulled through.” 

_Family stuff_. Mark leaving the game. Jackson’s slowly painting the picture, but suddenly he’s not so sure if he really wants to see the end result.

Jackson doesn’t know what to say. If Mark was his friend, he would’ve wrapped him in a tight hug, attempting to convey everything he feels with actions instead of words. But Mark is not his friend. He’s… he’s Tuan. Still, Jackson remembers how easy it had been to talk to the older boy, how little he had to think before speaking. It only seems right to return the favour. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Mark looks straight ahead. “No.”

Well. Jackson really should have seen that coming.

“Oh.” He looks up at the ceiling, trying to think of something comforting to say. “Well if you ever do, I’m here. I can’t promise that I’ll be any help, but I can always listen.”

Mark doesn’t look at him. “Okay.”

Heavy silence blankets them until Jackson, as usual, breaks it.

“I’d like to meet her.”

Mark turns his head towards the younger boy, his eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“Your mom. I’d like to meet her one day,” Jackson says sincerely.

Mark looks at him critically. “You know,” he starts, before a soft look comes over his face, “I think she’d like you.”

Jackson smiles a real smile, showing teeth. “Who wouldn’t?” 

Mark gives a light laugh and shoves Jackson, and Jackson’s hand moves before he can tell it not to, gently clasping the older boy’s hand. Mark startles a bit from the contact, but doesn’t shy away, and Jackson takes this as an invitation, intertwining their fingers. They skate a couple more loops around the rink, hands tying them together.

This is nice, Jackson thinks. Calming, relaxi-

“Race you!” Mark shouts, tearing his hand away from Jackson’s as he sprints across the ice in a burst of energy.

Jackson wastes no time and races after him, throwing his whole body into it. “You little cheat!” he exclaims.

Mark just cackles and skates faster. Jackson pushes his body to the limit, his legs pumping fast, and it pays off because he catches up with Mark and corners him into the boards.

He grabs Mark’s arms, pressing them against the glass on either side of the older boy's head. “That was a fucking head start if I ever saw one,” he pants.

Mark sticks out his tongue. “I still got here first, didn’t I? Seems like a win to me.”

“Doesn’t count,” Jackson protests, “I’m calling a redo.” He pushes against Mark’s arms harder, and feels the other boy shiver.

“Cold?” he asks, taking his hands away from Mark.

Mark isn’t, but he latches on to the reason.“It’s the damn jersey,” he grumbles.

Jackson looks at Mark’s loose black jersey that's adorned with a lightning bolt down the front that used to be bright white, but has since faded to a dull cream. Jackson knows that the only reason Mark could be cold is because his jersey is so old and worn out that it’s practically threadbare- probably a hand me down from a teammate.

Jackson glances down at his own jersey and winces. It’s the brightest most obnoxious red that Jackson's ever seen in his life and the little pitchfork and horns on the front hardly distract from the outlandish colour. “At least you guys look like actual players. Us, we look like oversized tomatoes.”

Mark laughs loudly. “You don’t,” he assures, but from the way he’s giggling Jackson can tell he’s not sincere. Mark stops laughing though and runs a hand down Jackson’s jersey. Something new reflects in Mark’s eyes and he looks at Jackson so intensely that it’s almost like he's looking _through_ him. “Besides,” he whispers, voice deep, “Red is my favourite colour.”

Jackson’s breath catches in his throat. Somehow, in the last second, Mark has gotten even closer to him. Jackson can smell his mint toothpaste, his strawberry shampoo. He feels high. Reaching out, he places a gentle hand on the side of Mark’s face. Fire shoots up his arm, spreading warmth throughout his body. He leans in slowly. 

Mark leans in too. They come so close that their breath mingles, and Mark’s hair tickles Jackson's forehead. A door slams somewhere in the rink and Mark jerks away so quickly he might get whiplash. “I’m sorry,” he stammers out. 

Jackson squints in confusion. This isn’t like last time. There’s no way that only he felt the fire. There’s no way he imagined this. “Tuan?” he asks.

Mark is wringing his hands together, and if they were on solid ground he might’ve been pacing, but since they’re on ice he settles for moving his skates back and forth, creating a small groove. “I, please, just, can we pretend this never happened?”

Jackson feels his stomach drop. “What the fuck...” he says softly, more to himself than anyone.

Mark’s eyes are shiny. “Please, Jackson.”

And it’s the only time Mark’s ever called him by his first name, so he just nods blindly. Mark makes a small noise like he’s going to say something else, but then he turns and skates off the ice and tumbles out of the rink.

The Devils win the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some tension to spice up your life because why would I let them be happy?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me, but it gets worse before it gets better…

BamBam is completely invested in something on his phone when Jackson walks into class. He plops down beside him, slamming his books down which knocks BamBam out of his stupor.

“What’s so interesting?” he asks, trying to lean over and see his friend’s screen.

BamBam immediately tries to hide his phone from view which only makes Jackson more curious. After a few seconds of struggle, Jackson successfully has the phone in his hands. 

BamBam’s eyes are wide. “Jackson wait, I’m serious.”

Jackson ignores him and looks at what appears to be a news article. He reads the headline, **Suwon Bolt’s Mark Tuan talks about training rituals, strategy, and his competition.** Just reading Mark’s name sends Jackson reeling back to their last encounter a week ago. If he tries hard enough, he can still feel the ghost of Mark’s thin fingers wrapped around his own. Before he had run out leaving Jackson with more questions than answers.

BamBam is still trying to get his phone back, but Jackson keeps him away with one hand. He skims the article until he sees his friend’s name and pauses. 

_Q: Who is your biggest competition so far?_

_A: Park Jinyoung from the Sejong Devils is impressive. He’s a good goalie and I’m always on my A game when shooting on him._

_Q: He’s great no doubt, but what about the offense line from the Devils? Jackson Wang and Woon Muk have shown some potential these last few games._

_A: Wang? He’s decent, but he’s too short. He could never make it in the big leagues. I’m not too worried about him. Now Muk on the other hand-_

Jackson tears his eyes away from the screen, fuming. Every brick of progress into the Jenga tower that was Jackson and Mark’s friendship comes crashing down. Jackson laughs humorlessly. Why did he think they could ever be something other than rivals? A few months ago Jackson wouldn't have been surprised; he would have expected this really. But now… fuck. He’s done it again. Trusted someone too quickly, given his heart away too willingly. 

Jackson’s stomach twists and he shoves the phone into BamBam’s hands before running out of class. He locks himself in the bathroom stall and sits on the closed toilet. He’s so mad that he’s actually shaking. He had told Mark that in confidence, had trusted that he wouldn’t tell anyone. Now it’s plastered all over the internet for anyone to read. Fire creeps up his spine. 

What a fucking liar. 

_

Mark greets him the next day as he walks into the community center, bright and early Saturday before their morning game. He gets up from his chair, almost like he had been waiting for Jackson. The older boy looks kinda nervous, his hand toying with the bracelet on his wrist.

Jackson brushes past him. Maybe Mark will think he’s still angry about last week, because it had left off pretty awkwardly, or maybe he knows what he did, either way, Jackson doesn’t care. Sometimes, time gives you the tools you need to cool down and move on. Not this time. If anything Jackson is more angry than yesterday, especially when he had received numerous texts with screenshots from the article either asking if he’s okay or teasing him. No, Jackson’s not angry, he’s fucking _seething_.

“Wang,” Mark calls, speed walking to keep up with Jackson’s fast pace. “You look like someone killed your cat. What happened?”

Jackson ignores him and walks faster.

Mark scrambles, needing to find some way to talk to the younger boy about last week. “Did your fancy car break down?” he pushes, trying to get a rise out of the boy.

Jackson presses his mouth into a line. “I’m not in the mood, Tuan. Go find someone else to harass.”

Worry and hurt flicker across Mark’s face before he’s frowning again. He stops walking and lets Jackson put some distance between them. “Fine. See you on the ice.”

_

The difference between Mark and Jackson, is that when Jackson is mad, he can’t play hockey for shit. His heart just isn’t in it, and he can’t focus on what’s happening. When Mark is mad, he’s a fucking ledgend on skates. Every emotion, every bad thought, is poured into his playing, is laid out on the ice for everyone to see. It’s part of what makes watching him skate so entrancing. (Not that Jackson likes watching him skate).

Tonight is no different. Mark is floating. He’s playing better than ever. It's a tie game, but Mark’s already scored twice and he knows his team can win, they deserve it. He spots a reporter sitting in the stands with a notepad and a camera that he knows are for him. The added pressure is welcome, and Mark can feel a hat trick coming his way. 

The buzzer rings to signal the end of the second period and both teams flock to their respective sides to strategize. Jackson watches as Mark skates around the rink smiling. He winks at the reporter’s camera as he passes, flashing some teeth. That cocky little-

Suddenly, Jackson gets an idea.

He had promised himself he wouldn’t do this, but that was back before Mark had blabbed about his personal insecurities to the press. Deal’s off now.

Their team huddles up. “Okay Devils,” Jackson starts, “I have a way to take Tuan out of the game.”

_

Mark’s gliding down the ice, puck on his stick, waiting till Youngjae is a little farther up before he makes a pass.

Suddenly, he’s surrounded on all sides. The players from the other team crowd him and he can’t see. There’s four of them in total and they just stand there, intimidatingly close. It’s a strange tactic, one he’s never seen in a game before, but he’ll give them props because he gets quite flustered, and struggles to keep the puck close to himself. He tries to skate past, but they press even closer to him, a solid wall of red blocking out his vision. He gives a little laugh, waiting for someone to steal the puck and the players to disperse, but no one moves. 

Sweat pools on the back of his neck and he desperately looks for a way out. There’s so many bodies, so much colour- too much, and he can feel himself slipping into a dangerous place. A hand touches his back and it makes his head spin. 

The bodies- if he could even call them that, because at this point everything is a blur, and people blend with walls, which blend with sounds- press impossibly closer and squeeze around him like a vice. His heart is pounding so hard against his ribcage that it hurts. Mark tries to find Jaebeom, or Youngjae, or even Wang- someone, anyone- to ground him before he goes too far.

The air around him is too heavy, so thick that when he breathes in he can feel it slide down his throat. A familiar voice filters through his head, but he can’t place it because everything is muffled and he feels like he’s underwater. His hand is shaking so much that his stick clatters to the ice with a crack. 

Jackson is off to the side watching the plan go down with a smirk. His teammates crowd around Mark like he told them to, pressing in close to prey on his claustrophobia. He’s just waiting till Mark loses his focus so he can swoop in and grab the puck.

Jackson doesn’t really see what’s going on, but he does see the stick drop, so he takes this opportunity and grabs the puck from Mark, weaving it up the ice before making an amazing shot. It whizzes past the goalies glove and hits the back of the net. Jackson turns around smiling, ready to chest bump and cheer with his team on their goal.

Instead, everyone is crowded near the other end of the ice. Confusion blooms in his chest. He sees that Jinyoung has come out of his net and is blocking his own team with his body, pushing them away from Mark. Mark who is on the ground, his helmet and gloves skewed across the ice. 

Jackson feels a pang, but he doesn’t know what it means, because he still has no idea what the fuck is going on.

Parents, anyone who was watching the game, and that damn reporter are glued up against the glass, trying to get a view of what’s happening. The ref blows the whistle and everything comes to a halt as the coach from the Bolts yells at the players. “Give him space! Everyone off the ice, game’s over!”

Jackson’s team skates off the ice in a wave of red, Jinyoung ushering them out. The Bolts follow suit, their black jerseys retreating down the tunnel. 

Jackson is still by the other team’s net, a shocked smile frozen on his face. 

He watches as Jaebeom crouches next to Mark, whispering soft words as he tries to rouse the boy. Mark groans lightly, but he doesn’t seem like he’s all there yet. Eventually, Jaebeom gets on one side, and Youngjae on the other, and they drag Mark off the ice and down into their locker room.

Someone shouts at him, and Jackson shakes out of his daze and makes his way out of the rink.  
When he gets there, the locker room is filled with silence as they change out of their sweaty jersey's and back into their normal clothes. BamBam storms out once he’s changed, not waiting for Jackson like he normally does. Jackson races after him.

“Why are you mad?” he calls down the hall.

BamBam whips his head around to look at him. “That was too far Jackson. I never would have agreed to your little scheme if I knew that would happen.”

Jackson feels like he missed something important. He scrambles to piece things together. “Tuan? He’s fine. Just a little freaked out.”

BamBam’s mouth twists. “Jackson, you didn’t see his face. He was so scared it looked like he couldn’t breathe. I thought he was _dying_.”

Jackson feels hot regret drip down his spine like a flame. He doesn’t know what to do with his feelings: can’t comprehend them. He defaults to facts.

“But we won,” he points out pathetically.

BamBam shakes his head and frowns at Jackson. “Sometimes,” he says, “it’s like I don’t even know you.”

He leaves, and Jackson lets him. 

Jackson passes by Jinyoung on his way back to the ice and Jinyoung gives him a disappointed look. Jackson keeps his head down. He goes back to the ice through the spectator door and ends up sitting in his usual spot on the highest stands. He sees Mark’s stick laying forgotten on the ice and guilt tingles at his fingertips. The rink is empty, all the parents and friends had cleared out except for the reporter who had come to watch them play. Jackson watches as she studies something on her camera, and he realizes belatedly that it’s a video of their game. 

He almost stumbles in his haste to get to her. “Hi,” he waves, standing just to her left. 

She glances up. “Hey, kid,” she acknowledges, before her eyes narrow, “Didn’t you just play? Number 97, right?”

Jackson nods.

The reporter smiles and waves her camera around. “Exciting stuff, gonna have a hell of a story.”

Jackson shuffles his feet. “Um, actually, about that, I was wondering if you had a video of the game?”

The lady cocks her head. “Of course I do,” she says, flippantly. 

Jackson continues to stare. 

“Why, you wanna take a look?”

He nods.

So together, they lean their heads in and watch a pretty standard game on the camera screen. She fast forwards until the third period, and Jackson holds his breath as he watches Mark get cornered by his team. Watches as terror fills his eyes, as he desperately searches for a way out, tears streaming down his face before collapsing to the ice.

Out of instinct he goes to reach for the camera, just to do _something_ , but she pauses the video. “That’s enough for today kid, if you want the full thing, wait for my report on Monday.”

Jackson just nods as guilt washes over him, bile rising in his throat. He bolts before she can say anything else.

_

“I’m sorry,” Jackson owns up at school on Monday, plopping down beside BamBam and Jinyoung. “I know I messed up.”

Jinyoung sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You did.” He looks at Jackson. “But it’s not me you should be apologizing to. 

Jackson thinks that if they wrote a list of the most horrible evil people, he might quite possibly be at the top. “I know. We don’t have practice with the Bolts until next week though.”

“You could text him?” BamBam mutters, which is a new development, because until now he had been giving Jackson the silent treatment.

Jackson shakes his head. That would be low. “I don’t have his number and I’m pretty sure if I asked JB he’d actually kill me. Besides, I can’t apologize over _text_.”

“Why not? I thought you guys were ‘arch enemies’ or something,” BamBam says, making air quotes with his fingers. 

Jackson winces. “A lot has happened,” he says slowly. “I think that I might...maybe…

Jinyoung takes pity on him. “I know, Jacks. You don’t have to say it.”

Jackson looks up in shock. Was he being that obvious?

BamBam looks lost but Jinyoung gives him a small smile. “And it’s fine. I totally support you. But you’ve still royally screwed up.”

Jackson sighs. “I don’t know how to make it better.”

“Then I guess you have a week to come up with something good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happened, yikes.


	9. Chapter 9

Jackson being Jackson, doesn’t wait until Saturday when they have a shared practice. He drives to the rink on a Thursday, even though he doesn’t have practice then and he’s technically not allowed to be there. He comes at the end of practice, hoping to catch Mark alone. Trudging through the lobby and down into the rink, he keeps his head low, heading for his rival’s locker room.

A hand grabs his arm as he’s walking down the corridor and pulls him back hard enough to bruise. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jaebeom spits at him.

Jackson tries to calm his racing heart at the other boy’s sudden appearance. “I need to talk to Tuan,” he explains.

Jaebeom smirks, but in less of a _Haha, funny way_ and more of a _I could kill you if I wanted to_ , way. His hand is definitely leaving marks on Jackson’s arm. “Don’t you think you’ve already done enough damage?”

Jackson winces. 

“Mark told me that you knew,” Jaebeom continues. “That you _knew_ , and you still went through with that fucking insane idea.”

Jackson knows that he doesn’t deserve this chance, but he needs it. “Just for a second,” he pleads.

“You don’t get it,” Jaebeom hisses, his words dripping with venom. “I’ve never seen Mark that bad before. He _passed out_. He wouldn’t speak to anyone for hours, and didn’t come to school for two whole days after the game, not wanting to face everyone who had seen the video.”

Guilt squeezes Jackson like a python with its prey, making it hard to breathe. “I want to apologize,” he says. He also wants to cry, but he won’t, because he doesn’t get to feel sad, not when he’s the one who caused Mark all this pain, not when it’s _his_ fault.

Jaebeom looks at him hard. He must see something in Jackson’s eyes because he loosens his grip by a fraction. “If you make this worse, Wang, I swear to god I’ll knock out all your teeth and then make sure you never step foot in this rink again. Are we clear?”

Jackson nods. He doesn’t doubt a word Jaebeom says. “Crystal.”  
_

The Bolts locker room smells like ice, and sweat, and teenage boys. Jackson’s never been in it before since it’s for the ‘Away’ players and The Devils get the permanent locker room. It feels like uncharted territory.

The door squeaks as he closes it behind him. Mark is shoving his skates into a sports bag. He’s thankfully he only one left. “Hey JB, can you give me a lift to-” Mark halts as he turns around, and immediately averts his eyes when he realizes who it is.

“Hey,” Jackson says, lamely.

Mark looks anywhere but Jackson, his sweat damp hair falling into his eyes. His cheeks are pink, and Jackson can’t tell if it’s from practice or from seeing Jackson unexpectedly. The older boy hunches in on himself.

Jackson's voice is soft. “Tuan.”

Mark turns his face away and backs up farther from Jackson. It hurts to see him like this, so quiet, no smirk on his face or insult on his lips. He keeps looking at the ground like he wants to disappear.

Jackson is desperate. “Mark.”

He won’t look at him. Jackson can see Mark’s shoulders shake imperceptibly.

“ _Yien_.”

Finally, Mark turns around, tears shining in his eyes. “Why?” His voice comes out low, and shakier than he’d like.

Jackson’s heart hurts. “I’m sorry.”

Some of the familiar Tuan temper flares across Mark’s features and his jaw clenches. “Fuck sorry. Sorry doesn’t fix anything. I know I’m not your most favourite person in the world, but I thought that maybe… you might’ve…” He trails off before huffing. “I thought things were different now.”

Jackson nods his head like a bobble head. “They were!” he insists. “They are. _I’m_ different now.”

A single tear escapes Mark’s eye and he wipes it away furiously. “Are you?” he accuses. “‘Cause you still seem like the same asshole to me.”

Jackson wants to reach out and hold Mark, touch him in any way, just to feel his skin burn. He stays rooted to the spot. “You’re right. I am an asshole. I fucked up, and you have every right to hate me.”

Mark nods at him, seeming to agree, and doesn’t say anything, so Jackson pushes on.

“I was mad,” he starts out. “I saw your article, the one where you called me short. Said I could never make it to the NHL. It’s dumb, but, I trusted you. When you said you wouldn’t tell anyone; I believed you. And then you betrayed me.”

Mark’s eyebrows fly up his face. His voice is dangerous, repressed rage simmering underneath the surface. “You’ve got some nerve to come here and tell me that _I_ betrayed _you_ after that stunt you pulled.” He bends down and picks up a towel from the ground, stuffing it into his bag. “That interview.. I don’t know what I was thinking. I felt something change between us and I don’t know, I guess it scared me. I wanted things to go back to the way they were, when we both hated each other, because that was easy. So I called you short, because I knew it would make you mad.”

Mark yanks the zipper on his bag closed with enough force that Jackson is surprised it doesn’t come right off. “That interview was from a while ago though, and the more I thought about it, the worse I felt. I asked them not to post it, but it was too late. I’m sorry about that.” Mark’s teeth come out, flashing at Jackson sarcastically. “But wait. I called you short, which clearly means that I deserved to be scared to death and publicly humiliated. I mean, obviously, god. Silly me.”

Jackson opens his mouth to say something and Mark shakes his head. “Save it, Wang. I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses. I can find someone else to help me with homework.”

Jackson’s eyes are wet. He knows that behind the sarcasm Mark is hurting and it makes him want to throw up knowing that he’s the reason why. “ _Yien_ ,” he whispers in Mandarin, “ _You’ve always been the bigger person out of the two of us, and I need you to do it again. Please. Let me explain_.”

Mark crosses his arms over his chest, cocking one eyebrow. His whole stance screams challenge. This had better be good.

“I think,” Jackson ponders, waving his hands around, “I think the reason that it made me so angry was because it’s true. You’re Mark Tuan, minor league Wonder boy, and I’m just... Jackson. Jackson who plays hockey on weekends. I used to own these halls.” He huffs out a breath. “But then you came, and I’m not going anywhere, and everybody knows it.”

Mark makes a noise, but Jackson holds up a hand. He needs to say this. If he stops now he knows he never will.

“But what I did… it’s unforgivable. When I saw the video- when I saw you collapse- I’ve never hated myself more than in that moment. You didn’t deserve any of that, none of it. Tuan, I’m so so sorry.” At this point Jackson is crying, his cheeks wet. “These past few months have been good, better than good. You surprised me, and I found myself wanting to know more about this angry boy from America. I didn’t understand it at first, but when I saw you crumple to the ice, I knew.” 

He takes a shaky breath and looks at Mark, vulnerability seeping from his pores. “I like you Tuan. I have for a while now. I know you’ll never forgive me, but I’m hoping that maybe we can-

Mark reaches out and grabs the back of Jackson’s neck. His dark eyes pull Jackson in. “Just shut up, Wang.”

Jackson does, and Mark kisses him hard, his hands sliding into Jackson’s hair, and his tongue pushing into his mouth. Jackson holds his breath for a second before he’s pushing back, his own tongue tangling with Mark’s. It’s a battle for dominance and it ends with Mark flipping them around and pushing Jackson up against the lockers. 

Jackson slides his hand until it’s at Mark’s hip, his other one tugging on his black hair. 

They pull away to breathe, their rough panting the only sound filling the room.

Mark is smiling at him, his eyes half moons, and his lips red. “Woah,” he breathes out. 

Jackson feels the same. “Yeah,” he murmurs, and reaches a hand up to feel his lips where Mark had kissed him. “So you, you…

Mark gazes at Jackson’s flushed cheeks and dumb messy hair. He wonders how he fell for this idiot who acts on emotions instead of logic, who is angry and flawed, and yet kind at the same time. “Yes, Jackson. I like you.”

Jackson pushes forward again, kissing Mark slowly. He presses their bodies together, the friction burning through him and resting low in his stomach. “Yien,” Jackson whispers, and Mark moans in response, rutting his hips against Jackson's. He pulls his lips away, licking them, and they rest their foreheads together.

“I’m still pissed,” Mark says, his breath hot on Jackson’s face. 

“I know.”

“And don’t think this means I’m gonna go easy on you,” Mark says seriously. “The Bolts are gonna fucking destroy this playoff season.”

Jackson smiles wide, his teeth gleaming. There’s his boy, back and with fire in his veins. “You’re pretty cocky for someone who just lost their last game,” he teases.

Mark blinks innocently as he slides his hand down to palm at Jackson through his jeans. “And who’s fault was that?” 

“Mine,” Jackson breathes, voice deep with want. “I guess you’ll have to teach me to behave.” He presses his body closer to the older boy.

Mark’s eyes glint mischievously. He leans over and licks a stripe up Jackson’s neck making the shorter boy shiver. Then he pulls away and pats Jackson on the shoulder, going back to packing up his stuff.

Jackson whines at the loss of contact. Was Mark really going to rile him up and then leave him dry?

Mark swings his bag over one shoulder and smirks. “Next time we do this, you should bring mints. Your breath kinda smells.”

Jackson shoves him into the locker. “Hey!” he exclaims.

He’s not actually mad though because, _next time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this ending doesn’t seem rushed, because I think it’s pretty accurate to how teenage boys act. Fire burns hot and fast, just like Mark and Jackson. 
> 
> I’m going to write a short epilogue later to show their actual relationship but right now I’m swamped with classes. Also please let me know positives but also I’m open to constructive criticism, it’s how I can improve!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter ahh

EPILOGUE  
_

“How can you be so good?” Jackson whines, his pout in full effect. 

Mark laughs and loops around the empty rink. “I was born this way,” he teases. They’re on the ice before practice, and Mark is attempting to give Jackson some pointers because, “You always help me with homework, so now it’s my turn to return the favour.”

He circles behind Jackson and places an arm around his waist. “I’m kidding. You just need to be more aware. You get so focused on what you _want_ to do, of what's coming next, that you forget what’s actually happening now.”

He takes his hand away and glides in front of Jackson flicking him a stray puck. “Let’s go again. Where are you aiming?”

Jackson dribbles the puck back and forth. “Top right.”

Mark nods. “Okay, top right.”

They fly around the ice, Jackson offense and Mark defense, and Jackson holds up well, keeping the puck close. They near the net and Jackson spots his prize. He pulls back his wrist to shoot when Mark holds up a hand. “Wait, stop.”

Jackson looks up in partial annoyance, “What?”

Mark gestures to his position. “If you were to shoot top right, right now, you’d have an okay chance at making it; you’ve got a good position, but I’m here, blocking you. Now if you angle a bit to the left”- Jackson moves accordingly- “You’d see that bottom left is wide open and you’ve got a way better chance at making it.”

Jackson nods, doesn’t wait, and flicks his wrist. Mark jumps to try and defend, but just as Mark had predicted the puck sails forward, hitting bottom left safely. Jackson whoops in success.

Mark smiles. “Alright, now let’s go again, this time backhand.”

_

Walking down the tunnel after practice, Jackson wipes sweat from his forehead and turns to the center forward beside him. “That was some trash offense, you barely had the puck all game.”

Mark scoffs, poking his stick at Jackson’s stomach. “I let you win,” he retorts, pushing his hair back. There’s a smile though, because it’s not true, Mark would never go easy on Jackson, and he’s proud at how quickly the younger boy has picked up on the new techniques, even if it means he lost. 

Jackson bumps their hips together roughly. “Oh yeah?”

BamBam feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around, away from the entertainment unfolding in front of him. It’s a defenseman from the other team.

“Hey,” the boy (giant- damn he must be at least six feet tall) says shyly, “You played really well today. That power play goal was amazing.”

BamBam grins. “Dude it was epic!” he gushes enthusiastically. “It’s Yugyeom, right? You’re friends with Mark?”

Yugyeom nods, his eyes crinkling a bit. He’s got a cute mole under his eye, BamBam notes. “That’s me. And you’re BamBam, Jackson’s friend?”

BamBam spares a glance at his friend and sees that he has somehow managed to get Mark’s helmet and is holding it behind himself, squirming away from Mark’s long arms. He rolls his eyes and looks back to Yugyeom, “Unfortunately. You’d think they’d learn to grow up. They’re always bickering, it’s so childish.” 

He turns to tell Jackson to give it up so they can go get changed when he sees his friend backed against the wall, Mark’s tongue in his mouth. “Well that’s new,” he deadpans.

Jinyoung sighs and covers both BamBam and Yugyeom’s eyes with his hands. “Really guys? In front of the kids?”

Mark pulls away from Jackson, his lips wet with spit. “Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry at all.

BamBam stands there shell shocked, his eyes wide when Jinyoung removes his hand. “When the fuck did they start dating?”

Jinyoung shrugs. “I guess they finally got their heads out of their asses and talked.”

Mark and Jackson make identical expressions of offense and sputter in unison. Jackson first with, “My head was never in my ass, thank you very much,” and Mark with, “Hey this communication thing is harder than it looks.”

Yugyeom just laughs. “You guys are cute.”

To which they both start protesting again- “We are not _cute_ ”- but they way they’re smiling at eachother fondly betrays their words.

_

Jaebeom watches as Mark climbs into the passenger seat of Jackson’s Corvette. It’s a fucking nice car, and if Jaebeom was friendly he might’ve been able to talk about it for hours, but he’s still mad at Jackson for everything he put Mark through, even though his friend is clearly over it. 

“Where are you going?” he asks protectively, when Mark sees him and rolls down the window.

“We’re getting ice cream,” Jackson responds, grinning at Mark like it’s some inside joke. 

Jaebeom frowns at his best friend and lowers his voice, not sure how much Mark had told Jackson. “You’re skipping hospital day?”

Mark shakes his head. “We’re getting ice cream after that. Wang’s coming with me to see my mom. She met him last week and insisted he come again because he was ‘so charming’.”

“See?” Jackson teases, “Mama Tuan has good taste.”

Mark smiles, shoving Jackson’s shoulder. “I don’t know what she sees in you.”

They seem so familiar with each other, and even though Jaebeom had suspected something for a while, it’s strange to see this fun side of Jackson that Mark had talked about, instead of the offense for their rival team. 

Mark looks back to JB. “Oh, and don’t wait for me, I probably won’t be online tonight.”

Damn. He’s gonna have to beat the boss level on his own. Jaebeom looks between Mark and Jackson. “Don’t stay out too late, okay? We have that big presentation for Bio tomorrow.”

Mark rolls his eyes, feeling bittersweet. Jaebeom sounds more like a dad than his own has in years. “I won’t,” he promises. 

Jaebeom nods, and gets in his car. He hears Mark giggling at something Jackson is saying before they even pull all the way out of the parking lot, and he cracks a smile.

If Jackson can make Mark laugh like that all the time, maybe, just maybe, he can warm up to him.

_

Seeing Mark’s mom is good. It brings out the soft side of Mark, and Jackson likes watching him adjust her blankets and dote on her endlessly. He also meets Mark’s little brother, and they click immediately, mercilessly teasing Mark. He has so much more material for his banter now.

Ms. Tuan is as sharp as ever and immediately makes Jackson feel welcome. She is however, obviously sick, and their visit is cut short when the pain gets to be too much and they have to let the nurses come in and put her into a drug induced sleep. 

Mark is quiet on the way to the ice cream place and even Jackson’s attempt to cheer him up by letting him drive the Corvette isn’t working. The bell rings when they step in the shop and the girl- even though she must recognize them by now- looks as unimpressed as ever. 

“What can I get ya?”

Mark is playing with his bracelet. “He’ll have Vanilla and I’ll have…” he pauses and skims over the flavours, “Cherry, please.”  
Jackson clears his throat. “Actually, I’ll have mint.”

At this the girl raises her eyebrows, the most expression she’s used to date. 

Mark looks at him in shock. “Mr. _Vanilla is the best flavour, you can suck it_ , is ordering something different?”

Jackson shrugs. “I’m branching out.”

It makes Mark laugh curiously, which is what he wanted in the first place. Mark insists on paying for his own, and they head out to the parking lot and settle onto the trunk of Jackson’s car. Jackson watches as the cherry ice cream stains Mark’s lips, making them shiny and red. A bird chirps in the distance and Mark rests his hand on Jackson’s thigh, just because he can. 

“Why mint?” he wonders aloud.

Jackson smiles. He had been hoping for this question. He tears his gaze away from Mark’s lips to look at his dark eyes. They call to Jackson, luring him in, and this time he goes willingly. “Because you always taste like mint when I kiss you.”

Mark grins, his canines making an appearance and causing Jackson’s heart to malfunction. He jumps off the car and stands between Jackson’s legs, his body so, so, close. “If you wanted to taste me you could’ve just asked.”

He leans in and presses a hot kiss to Jackson’s mouth, sucking on his lips. And Mark is right, because he tastes so much better than ice cream ever could. Mark runs his hand up Jackson's thigh until it’s resting at Jackson’s crotch, teasing him gently. Heat pools in Jackson’s stomach, the flames travelling lower to meet Mark’s hand. “Baby,” he whispers, breathing the words into Mark’s mouth.

Mark pulls back, his face scrunched up cutely. “Baby?”

Jackson flushes. “Oh, uhm, yeah. Only if you want to though, I can, like, call you by your name, or whatever, if you-

Mark shushes him, his own cheeks a little pink. “No. I like it.”

They dive back in, albeit a little awkwardly, because they both only have one hand, the others still holding cones, which drip down their fingers. Jackson’s tongue grazes Mark’s teeth and the sharp points scrape it, making it sting a little. Fuck, that’s hot. Jackson’s nerves are on fire and he reaches down, pulling Mark closer by his ass. 

Mark gasps a bit, like he hasn’t been shamelessly palming Jackson. “We’re in public Jacks,” he whispers. 

Jackson whines. “There’s no one around, baby. I want this.”

Mark licks into his mouth. “I know,” he says, sounding reluctant, “But not here.”

He pulls back and sticks a finger into his already melting ice cream, and swipes it down the length of Jackson’s nose. It’s sticky and sweet, and drips off Jackson’s face and onto the paint of his car. 

There’s a beat of silence as they both look at the car, splattered with pink ice cream, before Mark is sprinting away giggling like a mad man. 

“Tuan!” Jackson hollers, “You’d better hope you can run as fast as you skate!”

_

**Mark Tuan Scores Winning Goal in Playoff Finals**

Pictured above: [ Mark Tuan (left) hugs Jackson Wang (right) after win in Playoffs. ]

_Q: So you and Jackson Wang seem pretty close as compared to last time we spoke, is there a reason you chose to celebrate with a rival player?_

_A: Wang is skilled, and is only improving. I look forward to beating him when we both get drafted to the NHL._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I had fun writing this last chapter. 
> 
> And Youngjae on Idol Radio?? I’m so proud of him, he’s doing amazing and his outfits have been on point, our sunshine has been making me so happy ☺️ Also Jackson with those rubber ducks, like ahhh can he be any cuter?

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you liked, and if you want me to write more in the future. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/demontuan)


End file.
